


How Dare You Speak of Grace?

by Exxxalted (Gandalfgirl579)



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Angst, Blood, Blood Drinking, Eventual Romance, F/M, Heavy Angst, Historical, Homophobia, Horror, Incest, Interview With The Vampire AU, M/M, Polyamory, Romance, Slow Burn, Still a better love story than Twilight, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Taboo Romance, Tragic Romance, Vampires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-16 04:29:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gandalfgirl579/pseuds/Exxxalted
Summary: “Damianos is gone.” Auguste said it very softly, for curled in his arms, Laurent was trembling and struggling for breath through his silent sobs. “He’s gone, butI’m here.” Auguste brushed his lips against Laurent’s temple. “I’ll always be here.”





	1. Chapter 1

_**London, 1801** _

The ball's last waltz ended in a grand twirl and an even grander crescendo, and Damen pulled away from Laurent only far enough to press a kiss to his knuckles. 

Softly enough to not be heard above the clapping of the other couples occupying the dance floor or the gilded orchestra in the far corner, Laurent murmured, " _What a gentleman_." Damen's smile warmed him through and through, and he glanced towards the golden entryway that led out of the hall, to freedom. 

Softly, softly, Damen said, "Come with me."

Laurent easily obliged, threading his fingers with golden ones as Damen used his size to half- shove, half-dance his way through the crowd as a new, slower song rang out from the band. Though they drew a few strange looks, as they somehow always managed to do, they ignored it.

When they finally managed to slip free of the crowd and out of the grand ballroom, the music fading behind them, Laurent sighed, eyes darting up to catch Damen's. Though he was clearly hesitant to ask, he forced himself to ask, "Did you tell him?"

Damen's smile fell, honey-gold eyes darting elsewhere. "He doesn't approve." 

"Of course he doesn't." Laurent crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the gilt doorway, eyes darting back to the dancing throng. 

He warmed a bit when Damen stepped closer, warm arms winding about his waist and holding him close, cheek pressed to golden hair. "Honestly," Damen said, breath ruffling through Laurent's hair, "I don't care. I adore you, and not having my father's approval isn't going to change that."

Uncrossing his arms, Laurent looped them beneath Damen's arms, hands resting on broad shoulders. "Is it because I'm a man," he asked, "or is it because I'm _me_?"

A sheepish huff of laughter, and Damen admitted, "I didn't think to ask."

"I suppose it doesn't matter anyway." Laurent graciously accepted a kiss to his forehead. "As long as you love me."

"You know I do." When Damen leaned in to kiss Laurent properly, though, Laurent turned away, so that Damen's lips brushed his cheek instead. "Laurent?"

Laurent's blue, blue eyes were in the dance hall again, wide and searching. "I thought I saw Auguste." His voice was soft, speaking more to himself than to Damen. 

Damen's brow furrowed, his gaze following Laurent's and finding nothing. "I thought he couldn't make it?"

"He said he would be here later tonight." The sun had set hours ago, though, and it was only Damen's presence at his side that was keeping Laurent from worrying. "I was hoping it was him."

Carding a hand through golden hair, Damen murmured, low and soft, "He'll be here." When Laurent cast him a weak smile, Damen pressed a kiss to his temple. "I want to give you something before he gets here, though."

The nervousness in Damen's voice was highly unusal, and at last, Laurent gave him his full attention. He watched quietly, patiently as a little velvet box was pulled from the pocket of Damen's fine brocade coat and pressed into his palm. Stealing a quick upward glance, Laurent lifted the lid.

"It was my mother's." It was a ring, yellow gold, with diamond-laiden shoulders and a glorious ruby in its center. Laurent's breath caught in his throat, and Damen, laughably anxious, said, "I know that I can't officially marry you, but at least we can have this, yes?"

Breathless, Laurent murmured, " _Yes_ ," and allowed Damen to slide the ring onto his ring finger. It was a bit tight, and Laurent swore to himself to never take it off again. 

Damen pulled back then, giving a shaky sigh and saying, "I'm going to go outside for a bit."

His eyes staying on the ring glittering on his finger, Laurent asked, "Why?"

"I've never been so nervous in all my life, Laurent." Damen's voice shook with laughter as he spoke. "If I don't get some air, I'm likely to faint."

"So delicate." There was no scorn in Laurent's voice, and he pressed a hand to Damen's chest, leaning up to place a soft kiss to his lips, uncaring of the passing servants seeing them. They were used to such shows of affection by now. "Hurry back."

"Of course."

When Damen sauntered off down the corridor, a figure of bronze and crimson amidst the gold and ivory and intricacy of the de Vere estate, Laurent's eyes drifted back to the ring, catching his reflection in the stunning ruby at its heart. It was done up in Damen's family colors, and Laurent felt a lovely little thrill work its way up his spine.

It went cold when a familiar voice demanded, "Where did you get that?" 

Laurent's only response was an icy, " _Kastor_." He didn't look away from the ring.

Neither did Kastor. Again, he asked, " _Where did you get that ring_?"

"Does it matter?" It was not, perhaps, the wisest response. Kastor had no patience for Laurent, and he was clearly already in a foul mood. Laurent wasn't worried. He could defend himself just fine, and if Kastor hurt him, Damen would see Kastor hanged. After the Jokaste debacle, there was no love between the Akielon brothers. "I won't be giving it back."

From out of the corner of his eye, Laurent saw Kastor blanch, saw his hands clench into impotent fists at his sides. Gritting his teeth, Kastor asked, " _Where is Damianos_?" 

Laurent shrugged. "Outside, I suppose."

And Kastor shoved past him toward the garden. 

Kastor, Laurent had always known, was going to be a problem. While Theomedes didn't approve of his son's relationship, he was at least civil. Kastor, however, wasn't capable of that much. He was a brute, and to be perfectly honest, Laurent was a bit frightened of him. Even with Damen's protection, Laurent was afraid.

Sighing, Laurent ran a hand through his hair, though it snagged at the sound of a scream ringing out above the orchestra and the twirling crowd in the ballroom. A collective gasp, and the music screeched to a halt. Laurent bolted toward the sound, but was stopped midway to the garden, colliding with his blood-soaked brother. Pulling back, he breathed, "Auguste?"

Auguste, it seemed, was at a loss for words, his white silken shirt stained crimson across his chest, up his neck, all the way too his chin. His eyes were wild, his breath coming in harsh gasps. He reached out to grasp Laurent's shoulders to steady himself, dropping his head to Laurent's neck.

Again, Laurent asked, "Auguste?"

Drawing a shuddering breath, Auguste pulled back to meet Laurent's eyes. Softly, he said, "I tried to save him." Auguste hid his face against Laurent's neck again, giving a violent shudder when Laurent's hands came to rest against his shoulder blades. "I tried to save him, but he's dead."

Shaking his head, Laurent asked, "Who?" But he knew, for in came Kastor, bloodied, too, and dead-eyed. 

As if the words themselves pained him, Auguste gritted out, " _Damianos is dead_."


	2. Chapter 2

"You can't honesty be content to stay in there the rest of your life." 

Auguste's voice was muffled through the thick wood of Laurent's bedroom door, and Laurent did his best to ignore it, hiding his face in his pillow. Though nearly two days had passed since the ball, the scent of Damen's cologne still clung to the fabric. "Go away, Auguste."

"I only just got here."

It was a fair point, Laurent supposed, though he didn't say so. Instead, he pulled the heavy fur blanket down from about his neck to tuck it beneath his arm. The fire in the hearth just off the foot of the bed was burning low, the little oil lamp on the bedside table doing the same after a long night of reading. He couldn't see the old grandfather clock that occupied the far corner of the room, but he knew that it had to be very late.

"I'm coming in."

There was the sound of a lock clicking, then the door softly creaked open and closed, footsteps on the thick-carpeted floor, and then bed dipped, a gun-calloused hand winding itself into Laurent's hair.

Hiding his face in an overstuffed pillow, Laurent said again, " _Go away, Auguste_."

Gently, Auguste replied, "I'm not going anywhere."

"Even after the sun comes up?" There was something oddly satisfying about making Auguste tense up, and Laurent felt himself perk up a bit. Turning onto his side, he glanced up to his brother to ask, "Where do you go? What is it you do all day?"

"Does it matter?" Auguste brushed a golden curl away from Laurent's face, tucking it behind his ear. "If you need me, _I'm here_."

Laurent sighed, pulling his hands to his chest and idly twisting Damen's ring around his finger. He hadn't taken it off since the night of the ball. He had no intention of _ever_ taking it off. "I know you are."

Auguste's hand slid lower, brushing lightly over Laurent's cheek, and Laurent shivered. "Do you miss him terribly?"

Laurent brought his left hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to the great ruby at the center of the ring. "Who?"

" _Damianos_."

"Honestly," Laurent said, very softly, "no. I don't quite believe he's even gone." He looked up at Auguste again, his eyes red with tears and lack of sleep. "I never even got to see his body, Auguste, as far as I know he could still be--"

" _He's gone_." The firmness in Auguste's voice was unexpected, and Laurent flinched a bit under it, turning his eyes back to the ring, watching his own reflection in the dim, flickery lamplight. "You're very lucky you didn't have to see the body."

"Do you think I'll see him at the funeral tomorrow?"

"I very much doubt it. He wasn't..." Auguste bit his lip. "In shape for display." Laurent made a soft, wounded sound, and Auguste wiped the tear away from his cheek. The skin there was dry and over-warm, wiped too many times. Auguste ignored the little pang that rang through his chest when Laurent pulled away a bit.

"Your hands are cold."

"It's December, Laurie." Auguste did his best to keep his relief concealed. "Everyone is cold."

Wordlessly, Laurent lifted the fur blanket he was mostly hidden beneath. It was an invitation.

Smiling, Auguste toed off his his boots and slid beneath the covers, curling an arm around Laurent's waist and pulling him close. 

"We're not children anymore." Laurent hid his face against Auguste's neck as he spoke, breath warm on cool skin. He sounded half-asleep. "This is hardly appropriate."

Auguste brushed his lips along Laurent's temple. "You love me, don't you?"

Without a second's hesitation, Laurent replied, "More than anything."

"Then there's nothing inappropriate about it." Auguste shifted closer, pressing his cheek to the crown of Laurent's head. "Love justifies everything." 

Laurent hummed in reply, "Hmm?"

A moment passed, then Auguste said, "Don't go to the funeral tomorrow."

That seemed to rouse Laurent a bit, and he said, "I never got to say goodbye, Auguste. _I need to go_."

"Were you invited?"

Laurent glanced away, to one of the room's darkened corners. "I don't care that I wasn't." 

Propping himself up on his elbow, Auguste asked, "Do you think they'll want you there? They're burying one son and seeing the other executed for fraticide. Your presence is the last thing Theomedes and Hypermenestra need right now."

" _I'm going_." And Laurent turned, so that his back was to his brother. "I love him and he loves me. I have every right to be there."

"They would only welcome you if it was to return that ring."

There was a silence then, long and deadly, and Laurent hissed over his shoulder, " _Get out_."

"No."

Laurent whipped around, driving an elbow at Auguste's chest, though Auguste had easily seen it coming, snatching his wrist and flipping Laurent onto his back, hovering above him on the bed, the blanket tangled around them.

" _No_ ," he said again. "I know you well enough to tell when you're going to break." Under him, Laurent flushed, though it wasn't clear if it was from embarrassment or anger. "I'm not leaving you." He leaned in to press a kiss to Laurent's forehead, finding that Laurent was trembling hard, breath catching in his throat in choked little sobs. " _I'm never leaving you_."


	3. Chapter 3

"You're certain you want to go?" 

Though he would never swallow his pride and admit it to Auguste, to his mother, Laurent replied, "I don't want to."

Hennike sighed. She stood behind Laurent, her hands on his shoulders, their eyes meeting in the vanity mirror. "I feel like you're making this more painful than it needs to be."

"I love him, Mother." Laurent finally broke eye contact to glance at the ring Damen had given him. With the afternoon sunshine pouring through the window, the ruby at its center glowed bloody and bright. "Of course it hurts."

Giving no verbal response, Hennike reached around Laurent's neck to slide his hair back and over his shoulders. Gently, as she had done a thousand times before, she seperated the strands into three sections and began braiding. 

There was a quiet familiarity to it, and Laurent let his head fall forward a bit, shoulders relaxing, breath coming easier.

Though the silence was a comfortable one, Hennike broke it, asking, "Is Auguste going with you, at least?"

"I don't want him to." Laurent glanced up at the mirror again, watching Hennike work, green eyes focused intently on his hair. "He would just make it harder." Softly, he added, "It's more than I can handle already."

Leaning around Laurent, Hennike grabbed a ribbon from the vanity, black instead of Laurent's usual blue. Once she tied off the braid she had made, she put her hands on Laurent's shoulders again, leaning in to press her cheek to his, catching his gaze in the mirror. "You are stronger than you know, Laurent." She pulled back to plant a kiss at his temple. "I know it hurts now, but _you will survive. **You will make it through this**_."

She sounded far more certain than he felt.

Laurent did his best not to let his sorrow show, forcing a smile and standing, crossing the room to grab at the jacket that had been left out for him. Like the ribbon in his hair, it was black. Laurent despised black. It made him look _like death warmed over_ , Damen had once told him. 

Keenly aware of his mother's eyes on him, Laurent pulled the jacket on, glancing over his shoulder and saying, "I don't know when I'll be back."

"I won't hesitate to send Auguste after you if I start to worry." She clearly meant it.

"Yes, Mother." 

She had nothing left to say, it seemed, and Laurent left the bedroom, trekking through the ivory-hued halls of the family estate. Though it was midday, the manor was quiet, a respectful hush falling to ease Laurent's mourning.

The servants he met in the halls parted easily for him. 

His father, alas, did not.

" _Laurent_ ," Aleron said. His gaze was steady and cold, the same color as his younger son's. 

It took all the willpower Laurent had left to meet those eyes. Meekly, he said, "Father."

"You're crying." 

It wasn't a surprise. No wonder Hennike had been so worried; She must have seen it coming.

"It's bad enough that you're attending a funeral uninvited," Aleron said. He towered over Laurent, brows drawn together, chin hautily tilted so he was looking down his nose as he spoke. "I'll not have you seen _crying_ in public. You've disgraced this family more than enough already."

Though Laurent's hands clenched into fists at his sides, he said nothing, his face held as blank as he could manage.

"You are nobility, Laurent. You have _royal blood_ in your veins. You have a reputation to uphold." _There were few things more important than one's reputation_ , Aleron often said. " _Remember who you are_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, but Hennike and Aleron are very important!


	4. Chapter 4

Laurent had never felt so unwelcome.

He had arrived to the funeral early, stepping up to the altar at the back of the church and simply looking, shocked and still. He had had every intention of opening it up and peeking inside upon his arrival, but as it actually happened, his gloved fingers only slid ineffectually along the wood. It seemed disrespectful to have even thought of such a thing, now that he had actually touched the coffin.

Just touching it was enough.

 _This was real_.

"He's only in there because of you."

Laurent glanced over to catch Theomedes's gaze, though Theomedes steadfastly refused to return it. "I'm sorry."

"It's you who drove him and Kastor apart." Theomedes leaned forward to kiss the cross set atop the coffin. Normally, Laurent knew, it would rest upon the corpse's chest, but with the coffin closed, it was impossible to allow for that tradition. "It's your brother who did the killing. And now I'm losing both of my sons."

Again, finding he could say nothing else, Laurent murmured, "I'm sorry."

Theomedes ignored him for a moment, hands clasped together in prayer. When he finally turned his eyes to Laurent, they were red-rimmed and swollen. " _Sorry_ won't give my sons back to me."

Even after he had taken a seat and the pastor had taken a stand before the altar, Theomedes had his eyes on Laurent. It hurt more than it should have. Accusatory as they were, they were the same color as Damen's eyes.

 _The same color Damen's eyes **had been**_.

Behind the pastor, placed upon the altar, was the coffin. Inside, Laurent knew, was Damen. He looked away, to his lap, to his left hand. The ring, on Auguste's advice, was hidden beneath a glove of finest leather, luckily not looking terribly out-of-place in the December chill. 

Laurent's mind drifted through the eulogy and the rising of the parishioners and the carrying out of the coffin. Kastor should have been among the pallbearers, but he currently sat imprisoned, leaving his wife and child to attend the funeral alone. 

Jokaste didn't seem to be terribly upset by her brother-in-law's death, little Andreas cradled in her arms as she filed out of the church with the rest. She wound her free arm through Laurent's as they stepped out into the cold winter sunshine. Half a whisper, she said to him, "I don't believe Kastor was the one to kill him."

"No." Laurent was a bit surprised with himself. He had no reason to believe that Damen's murder hadn't been Kastor's doing. He kept his eyes on the ground as they picked their way though the cemetary. "I don't think he did it, either." His eyes drifted to Jokaste's face as the coffin was lowered into the ground. He couldn't bear to watch his entire world sink into the ground. Seeming to pick up on his mood, Andreas cooed at him. Laurent smiled sadly back. To the child's mother, he said, "But Kastor has a motive. He hates me, and he hates Damen for loving me. Damen and I being together was _sinful_."

Jokaste nodded, but instead of agreeing or disagreeing, she asked, "Auguste was there, too, was he not?"

Laurent shook his head. " _He would never_ \--"

"Of course not." She sounded entirely sincere, glancing away from Laurent to put Andreas's winter cap on over his silken blonde hair. "But he was there, too. Did he see anything?"

"He won't talk about it, at least not to me." It was extraordinarily strange; Auguste usually told him everything. With all the blood that had soaked into his shirt and his hair and his skin, though, Laurent understood. It had probably been as traumatic for Auguste as it had been for him. "I doubt Kastor will be executed, though. He's too well-bred for that. He'll probably be exiled instead." Laurent looked away to see the gravediggers filling in the hole Damen was buried in. Ignoring Theomedes's glare, he stepped forward to the vase of roses beside the grave, tossing a single white rose into the ground. 

Jokaste did the same while Andreas waved joyfully at the coffin. Jokaste gently reprimanded him and stepped back to Laurent's side.

"If Kastor is exiled," Laurent asked, "will you go with him?"

"I don't know." It was odd to hear Jokaste sounding so uncertain. "What's more important: My duty as his wife or my personal honor?"

"If it was Damen being sent away," Laurent said, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat, and shivering to hide a shuddering sob, "I would be going with him."

"Honestly," Jokaste said, her voice soft and almost lost in a chilly breeze, "I'm surprised you haven't gone with him already."

"Honestly," Laurent replied, eyes on the sky to stop the inevitable tears, "so am I."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer chapter again! And a Greek Orthodox funeral, which was not fun, but was certainly interesting to research! 
> 
> Also, I love Jokaste. She and Laurent would totally be friends under different circumstances


	5. Chapter 5

"I can't believe you would do this to me."

The thought had been on his mind all night, spoken now to icy inhabitants of the graveyard, all dead, save him. He almost envied them. He took a long swig from the bottle in his hand, shuddering against the heat of it.

The world was spinning, the snow heavy and wet, the moon blotted out by angry, swift clouds.

Drunk though he was, Laurent was barely able to stand, feet slipping on the ice that coated even the grass of the graveyard. In one hand, he held his coat, gathering frost where it touched the cold ground. In the other, he clutched at a bottle of whiskey, mostly empty now, the fire of it burning in his veins and staving off the bone-chilling cold of the London winter.

"How could you leave me alone like this?"

Laurent's voice was nearly drowned out by a gust of howling wind, soft and choked, like the voice of a child about to break down. 

" _How dare you_?" 

Before he realized what he was doing, Laurent flung out his hand, and the bottle shattered against the fresh-carved marble of Damen's tombstone, droplets of amber sprinkling over the stone, glass glittering as it cut through the air. 

It was horribly disrespectful, and Laurent sunk to his knees on the freshly-turned earth, long-held-back tears finally escaping and leaving little icy streaks down his face. 

"I'm sorry, Damen."

He barely recognized his own voice. Negative emotions were unseemly, his father always said, and hearing the grief so clearly in so public a place was jarring. He was immensely grateful it was the middle of the night and the cemetery was empty, save the ghosts he could feel all around him. He wondered, for just a moment, if Damen was among them.

"I didn't mean it." 

He reached out to gather up a few pieces of glass, his fingers numbed by the cold, so that he didn't feel the one that dug into palm, spilling red over the dirt. He plucked up a curved piece that had probably come from the bottom of the bottle. It was bigger than the rest. 

"I just miss you."

A teardrop hit the dirt, and froze. 

In his hand, the glass caught an errant beam of moonlight, shining, a teardrop _plink_ ing onto it and rolling down along its sharpest edge. 

He brought it to his wrist.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so excited to write this fic! It's an Interview with the Vampire AU! The story follows Laurent and Auguste and eventually Nicaise, who is my baby. 
> 
> Primary ship will be Laurent x Nicaise, with a side of Auguste x Laurent and past Lamen. 
> 
> A big shout-out goes to Tumblr user Kalikatze, who did the grand favor of being my beta :)
> 
> As always, I must mention that I go by [aiimeriic](http://aiimeriic.tumblr.com/) over on Tumblr, and I'm totally open to taking questions and comments and requests and prompts there! :) Hit me up!


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